In Secrets Do They Sleep
by Jack'N'SallyGal
Summary: "I guess I find pleasure in watching you learn to hate your own side. You wear that particular brand of anguish well, Granger." Draco is released early from his prison sentence with nothing more than the clothes on his back, and the compulsion to visit one third of the Golden Trio.
1. Trouble lost, trouble found

**Title: In Secrets Do They Sleep**

**Summary: It's never an easy task to save those who believe themselves to be beyond saving. Never mind the reluctance of the woman doing the saving. Draco is released early from his prison sentence with nothing more than a compulsion to pay a visit to one third of The Golden Trio. **_**  
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**Word count: 2110**

**Chapter 1: Trouble lost, trouble found **

**A/N Everything from the HP world belongs to JKR. I merely come up with the situation.**

* * *

He watched every moment of the party. He was there when it began with the arrival of Potter with the Weasley bint on his arm. The door opened and she stepped into the shadowy September evening to welcome her friends with a hug and the most luminous smile he'd ever seen.

Her dress was a breezy, muted pink that hugged her slender frame and stood out softly in the near darkness.

Longbottom and Lovegood arrived next, laden with presents and a dish to pass.

Her fiancé arrived last. They shared a fleeting kiss in the doorway, trapped in each other's eyes before they were startled back into reality. He handed over her gift, laughing at the delight that shone so vibrantly on her face.

In the presence of company the hostess beamed the entire time. He followed her movements. First, as she put the finishing touches on an appetizer in the kitchen. He noted the frown that weighed on her features when she rinsed her hands in the sink and stared out into the yard. Her gaze was distant as if she weren't really seeing anything at all.

The smile was back when she served the food, broader still when her friends forced her to stop serving and enjoy the meal. Potter poured her a glass of wine for the toast and her fiancé was never far off.

The party lasted several hours. They took their time enjoying the meal and chatting as they discussed the news of the day and their careers. Through it all, the Weasel couldn't stop touching her. His hand was always covering hers or his arm would extend to drape her over her shoulders.

Longbottom lit the candles and Lovegood warned her about letting them burn too long, lest the scent of smoke invited flame dwelling creatures into the house.

She took her time opening presents. As was her nature, she thanked everyone profusely and poured her guests another glass of wine to let them know there was no rush to leave.

It was approaching eleven o'clock by the time they cleared out. Weasel lingered and even helped occasionally as she put away the dishes and tidied the house. She laughed when he pulled her onto the couch and let her deposit her head on his shoulder.

Their hands linked together; he murmured something about loving her endlessly to which she offered a contented smile.

They remained like that for quite some time. Eventually, he reluctantly took his leave, cupping her face in his hands and kissing her with fervor that spoke of wanting more than a goodnight kiss.

It was then, after The Boy Who Lived and his merry gang of gits vacated the premises, that Malfoy made his move.

* * *

Hermione was looking forward to changing out of her party dress when she heard the violent crash of her front door being torn from its hinges. She reacted on instinct, snatching her wand from the dresser and kicking her heels off so she would have an easier time maneuvering.

She entered the living room just as the front door was blown clear off its hinges. The sturdy oak shattered like glass and Hermione was forced to take shelter behind her sofa to avoid being impaled by some of the larger wood chips.

She wasted little time in aiming her wand near the doorway and firing off a stunning spell. The intruder returned fire, their aim becoming perilously accurate as they moved closer to her cover.

Hermione bolted from behind the sofa and into the kitchen where she could still maintain a partial visual of the living room. She kept her back pressed against the wall as she took deep, even breaths and listened for any sounds that would clue her in to the location of the prowler.

The house was plunged into an eerie silence. Hermione strained her ears, desperate for the sound of footsteps or a creaky floorboard. All she heard was the whispering wind that swept through the trees surrounding her home. It whistled through the windows, bringing the breeze indoors and raising chills on her arms.

She was prepared to step out of hiding with her wand drawn and a curse on her tongue when drawling, dulcet tones stopped her dead.

"I'm disappointed, Granger. I never would have thought you a coward."

Hermione shook her head, trying to make sense of what was happening. She didn't give herself long to consider it before she raised her wand once more and stepped into the open.

"Forgive me, Malfoy, but I never gave you enough thought to think _anything_ about you."

Hermione kept her wand drawn but faltered momentarily at the sight of Draco Malfoy.

The man who had formerly held the title of Slytherin Prince appeared to be a ragged shell of what he once was. His clothes were ill fitting and hung on a frame that was frightfully thin. His skin and hair were covered with dirt and who knew what else as if he hadn't had access to a proper shower in some time.

It was no wonder; last she heard he had been assigned to one of the makeshift prisons that had cropped up when Azkaban became overcrowded. She remembered picking up The Daily Prophet a little over a year ago and being stunned to see Draco Malfoy staring straight into the camera as the photo was snapped, looking completely unruffled as the two year sentence was handed down.

It was unnerving to see her former classmates on trial and receiving prison sentences but not unnerving enough for Hermione to lower her wand. She kept it trained steadily where Draco Malfoy's heart was supposed to be.

"Take so much as one step toward me and I'll kill you."

Malfoy dropped his wand and brought his hands together slowly so he could clap. "Well done. Excellent performance, although I must admit– I don't believe you."

It was at that moment that Hermione abandoned her wand. She hadn't planned on doing anything so rash until she was dropping it much as Draco had and lunging for him.

There were certain fights that needed to be resolved with blood.

Draco allowed her to crash into him, putting up no resistance so they both fell against the wall. He was laughing even as his body took the brunt of the impact. After all, what were a handful of bruises in addition to a lifetime of them?

His head slammed into the floor and he laughed harder when stars made their presence known and danced in front of his eyes. Hermione landed half on top of him and was quick to move so she had the advantage of pressing her arm against his throat, should she need to keep him from calling out for his wand.

Draco could have easily tossed her off. True, he was terribly thin and so weak from hunger and exhaustion that he could hardly keep his eyes open, but there was a distinct advantage in size that worked in his favor.

"What are you doing here?" Hermione increased the pressure on his windpipe so his words would come out garbled.

"Look at me, Granger," He wheezed, "I'm in…desperate need of a bath."

"You shouldn't have come here."

"Is this the part where you kill me?" Draco's grin was more than a touch disturbing as he smiled up into the face of the snarling lioness. "I hope my saying so won't dissuade you from your task, but I am looking forward to it."

Disgusted, Hermione released him. She gathered their wands, keeping hers out and making a point of dropping his onto the coffee table with a look that communicated he would do well not to try for it.

"Get up."

Draco followed Hermione who was careful to avoid the splintered bits of wood littering the floor. He maintained a safe distance both out of a flippant regard for his safety but mostly so he could satisfy his curiosity as she led him to his slaughter.

He quickly scanned the book titles on the way out of the living room. Her reference books were worn from their usage but obviously well cared for in their color coded home. His fingers itched to touch the stray paperweight on one of the shelves, a small dome of swirling blue glass, as well as the other odds and ends that littered the cozy rooms he passed through.

Draco allowed himself the pleasure of trailing his fingertips over the cheerful yellow comforter tucked over her bed. It was possibly the brightest bedding he had ever seen in his life.

For some reason, it made him smile, however hollowly.

"Get in."

Draco didn't realize he had been leaning against the wall for support, eyes closed, until Hermione's voice and the sound of rushing water startled his eyes open. The shower curtain was thrown back and steam was rising in the immaculate tiled stall.

"What's this?"

"You stink," Hermione said flatly. "Take it or leave it."

"I'll take it."

Draco took tentative, stumbling steps forward. There was only a moment's hesitation before he plunged into the stall and stood under the scalding spray. He tilted his head back so his face was submerged fully under the wondrous rush of water. He couldn't remember the last time he showered, feeling the water dribble from his hair onto his face.

It had been too long since he felt clean.

For the second time that night, stars danced in front of his eyes. Hermione wasn't responsible for them this time. For some reason the thought made him smile, even as he was leaning weakly against the wall. He began laughing again in an uncontrollable burst of sound that nearly brought him to his knees with fatigue.

"Here," Hermione placed the soap in his hands. When he made no move to take it she folded his hand over the scented bar and nudged him none too gently as she stepped into the shower with him.

Draco gripped the soap feebly as he dragged it across his clothed stomach and arms. He was still wearing the soiled clothes as it would not do to be stark in Granger's shower; let alone while she was in the shower with him as an act of charity.

More importantly, it didn't matter that he was still clothed when he could feel the grime sliding off of him with each passing minute. The water that swirled the drain started out an alarming black color and progressively grew lighter.

Transfixed by the gurgling of the drain, Draco didn't realize he'd been staring until Hermione touched his arm.

"Malfoy-"

He grabbed her hand then and was numb to the sound of her crying out as he tugged her forward, causing her balance to falter. Draco hardly noticed any of it.

He was entirely absorbed by the scar that ran along her forearm. It had faded somewhat and he was sure she had a glamour charm to keep it from being glaringly visible but he could still make out the word Mudblood when he looked at the slightly puckered skin.

Hermione wrenched her arm from his grasp and pushed him back against the wall with a strangled sound of fury. "Don't."

He reached for her again, unsure of his own motives, but she pushed him against the wall with enough strength to keep him from trying it a third time.

Draco stared at her then, with water pouring down his front and Hermione breathing heavily. Her dress was drenched and curving against her body while her hair was still partially dry and deciding whether or not it wanted to explode into an enormous puff; her expression one of flaming anger but lacking any real fear after what had taken place.

He almost started laughing again but wisely thinned his lips and said nothing as Hermione left the shower without a backward glance.

* * *

Hermione left Malfoy to finish cleaning himself. Or drown.

It was another ten minutes before she heard the water shut off and the rustle of the curtain as he put it back in place. She walked in and cast a drying charm to keep him from dripping all over her floor. He bowed ironically by way of thanks and followed after her as she led him to the front door.

She grabbed a bag from her kitchen table and thrust it into his arms. He cradled the plastic curiously and Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, explaining, "Leftovers from the party, nothing special."

"Alright."

Without another word, Hermione opened the door that had been fixed as much as possible while he showered so he could step into the night. It was late and she was exhausted by the strange turn of events.

She refused to watch him walk away. To watch and wonder…she was having none of it.

The door was almost closed when Draco paused under a street lamp, calling, "Granger?"

Hermione poked her head out, conscious of her Muggle neighbors and what they may have witnessed. "What is it?"

He tucked the bag of food under his arm and began walking backwards, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on hers. "Happy birthday."


	2. Strays

**Disclaimer: The world and all the characters in it belong to JK Rowling. I'm merely playing around with what she created. **

**Chapter 2: Strays**

* * *

There was snow on the ground the next time she saw him.

Hermione had used her day off to her full advantage. She slept in until a completely unreasonable hour, taking up every bit of space in her bed and luxuriating in a day with nowhere to be.

Ron and Harry were off with Ginny to catch a Quidditch game together, effectively keeping Ron busy for the entirety of the day.

At ten, she ate a light breakfast, planning to treat herself later to a lavish lunch, while breezing through the paper. The rest of the day was spent in Hogsmeade. She browsed the shops for Christmas gifts, delighted by the snowy day and the packages that were filling her coat pockets.

For a long time, Hermione wasn't sure she'd ever be able to do anything as mundane as Christmas shop among the masses. No one could have known what life would entail after the war, if they managed to survive. For Hermione, survival was the only thing she would allow herself to wish for.

She never wished for another boisterous Christmas, or the chance to marry her best friend. She only wished that the three of them would come out on the other side of it all. There was no way she could have been prepared for the staggering loss of lives from their side, but she would be forever grateful that Harry and Ron had been spared.

She still felt that gratitude now, as she ended her day with present wrapping and a steaming mug of tea.

Hermione was so caught up in what she was doing that she had to scramble to cover the remaining presents when the Floo roared to life.

"You've been busy."

Hermione made a sound of indignation and swatted Ron away when he crouched next to her and checked one of the tags.

"It was for Harry anyway."

"Stay away from the presents, Ronald, or so help me-"

Ron quickly swooped in to press a kiss to her lips. "I am in trouble if you're calling me Ronald."

"I'm not above hexing you. I know how you are about presents."

Hermione allowed him to pull her to her feet and smiled as she was enfolded in his arms. She pressed her face against the scratchy wool of his jumper. He smoothed a hand over her hair and pulled back to kiss her forehead.

"How was your day, then?"

"It was wonderful. I slept in until I was good and ready to be awake, and lounged a bit before finishing my shopping. How was the match?"

"Brilliant. Ginny said she missed you, told me she was going to take you out to lunch soon."

"I'll owl her about it tomorrow."

He kissed her again; softly, so their bodies melted together in a comfortable embrace.

"How are you feeling?"

Hermione bristled, and stepped just out of reach. "I'm fine, Ronald."

"Hermione-"

"Really. Today was a good day."

They stopped talking then, stopped worrying over the things they would never say, in favor of moving toward the bedroom. They focused instead on hands, lips, and the feeling of being safe and shut away from the world, as they closed the door behind them.

* * *

Hermione awoke first, before her alarm was set to go off. She shut it off and gave a languid stretch, before glancing over at Ron with a smile.

He was sleeping heavily, as usual. His hair was mussed and he hardly had any of the blankets, but most of the bed. He wouldn't wake up until his alarm went off in another hour, she knew as she slipped from bed and thought of a warm cup of tea.

Since the war, she often functioned on very little sleep. Her sleeping pattern was erratic, depending mostly on the amount of research she had to accomplish for work. She envied Ron's ability to drop into a heavy sleep, especially now when she was wide awake long before the sun was up.

She was halfway through her cup of tea and getting Crookshanks his food, when she saw the figure in the snow. She only caught a glance as she was passing by and nearly missed it completely.

Hermione did a double take and returned to the window so she could peer out into the garden.

Crookshanks watched idly from where he was perched, as his mistress abandoned her teacup and flew to grab her wand from the bedroom. She came back in a pair of mismatched trainers and went out through the back door without so much as a coat to keep her warm.

"What in Merlin's name..?"

Hermione ran across the yard, shivering and releasing her breath in great puffs, until she dropped beside Draco Malfoy in the snow.

Other than his clothing, it was impossible to tell where Draco Malfoy ended and the snow began. He was pale as death; a phrase that prompted some of Hermione's calm to slip as he stared up at her with hollow eyes.

"G-granger-"

"Shut up. I'm trying to save your life."

She set to work immediately, casting a heating charm as she checked for a pulse. It was faint, but still there. She wasn't sure of the extent of his injuries. She only knew that he was breathing and it wouldn't do to have Draco Malfoy die in her garden.

Hermione made quick work of getting Malfoy inside and levitating him into the guest bedroom.

"Hermione, I have to get to the Ministry. There's a situation and-"

Hermione cast another heating charm and rushed out of the bedroom, leaving Draco shivering on the bed, with a convincing smile for Ron as he entered the living room. He was already showered and shrugging on his coat when she dropped a kiss on his cheek.

She did her best to not seem eager for him to leave, while keeping in mind that Draco Malfoy was dying in her guest room.

"Be careful."

"I always am. I'll see you for lunch tomorrow."

"Right. I'll see you then."

As soon as Ron was gone, she ran back into the bedroom and began casting drying charms on his clothing, as quickly as possible. His eyes were closed and he had stopped shivering, a sign that he was worsening instead of getting better.

"Malfoy, I need you to keep your eyes open."

Hermione began bundling him in the warm, dry bedding she had on hand. She noticed his eyelids drooping and sharpened her tone.

"Malfoy! You bloody ferret, you aren't allowed to show up here and die."

"I wouldn't…dream of involving you in such a…scandal."

His eyes were still closed, but Malfoy managed to grin at her panic as she piled more blankets on top of him.

It would have been easy to slip into the fathomless sleep that was clawing at him. His eyelids were unbearably heavy and it was only the feeling of warm, competent hands streaking over his body that was keeping him awake. There was something entirely seductive about giving in to the overwhelming numbness and never opening his eyes again.

"Why did you come here?"

_To die_.

Unfortunately, Granger was making it impossible for him to drift off into nothingness. Her voice permeated the fog and forced him into coherency.

"Seemed like an okay…idea at… the time."

"Of course. Why didn't I think of wandering into someone's garden to freeze to death?"

"Obviously you lack…creativity."

Finally, when she had him swaddled in every blanket in the house, Granger pulled a chair next to the bed in order to stare at him. She seemed content to stare, in no hurry to interrogate him and demand he explain his presence near her home.

Finally, he felt compelled to remark, "I promise I won't die here."

"That's downright generous of you. Then again, I expect there are better places for a Malfoy to expire than in the home of a Mudblood."

"My father nearly died in Azkaban," Draco grunted as he managed to shift and sit up against the headboard. He added, "We can no longer afford to be choosy."

Granger was silent for a long moment; no doubt thinking of the dead on her side, and how little the life of Lucius Malfoy meant to her in comparison. Then her gaze came back into focus and she got to her feet.

"I'm making tea."

* * *

It was never meant to become habit.

Hermione never told Malfoy otherwise, but she assumed he would never come back. She had no way of knowing what he was up to when he left, but she assumed incorrectly that he would get on with things, and that would be that.

That wasn't the case.

She was no longer surprised when she found him in odd places around her home. He was never inside, always in the garden, mostly looking up at the sky until she came out to collect him and bring him inside. He would stand in the doorway, silently watching her as she moved through the kitchen.

She could only guess what he was thinking. She never asked and they never spoke.

It was a simple hand off of goods. There was a world of distance between them, even as they occupied the same room, except on the rare occasions when their fingers met by accident and they each flinched as if they had been scalded.

There were times when she couldn't bear to have him in her home. She needed her space and the comfort of being alone. He never attempted to force his way inside, like the first time. He would simply remain sitting on the back steps and disappear sometime before morning.

At odd times, usually when she was alone with nothing but her thoughts, she would look out at the garden and wonder what it was that Draco Malfoy was seeing, wherever he was.

* * *

They didn't speak again until his eighth visit, five months later.

* * *

Draco wasn't sure what business he had going back. It had been ages since he'd been there last, and there was nothing there for him now that his father's money was no longer tied up, and he was off the streets.

He certainly had no interest in thanking her.

It wasn't as if he'd been looking for saving on that snowy night in December. Leave it to Granger to do the exact opposite and expect his gratitude.

No, he wasn't going back to kiss her feet and sing her praises. He wasn't entirely sure what called him back, other than a curiosity that he felt no reason to deny.

The house was completely dark when he Apparated into the garden. He could hardly imagine living in such a small, out of the way home. The manor was only a ghost of what it once was, but still opulent in comparison to Granger's cottage size house, with its small stature and cheerful flowers blooming in the garden.

It was entirely too idyllic, too picturesque in its peaceful seclusion, until Granger came charging down the steps and knocked him off his feet with one swift spell. Draco felt the wind being knocked out of him, and dimly considered defending himself, before he was at the wrong end of Hermione Granger's wand.

"You arrogant bastard, how dare you come back! I should have known you'd do something like this…"

Her tirade against him continued as she dug her wand tip into the flesh of his neck. He was aware of the cool ground and the wetness that was leaking from her eyes and dripping onto his lips and cheeks. Her hands and the front of her blouse were covered in red, and for a moment, he was sure she was bleeding out all over his suit.

"Granger-"

"It won't come off. What did you do to it?"

The tears came faster, but she refused to give in to the sobs. He could feel the tremors wracking her body, but detected the undercurrent of rage that kept her from dissolving completely as she kept him pinned to the ground.

"I haven't the foggiest what you're talking about, Granger. However, I would appreciate it if you let me up before you ruin my suit."

There was a moment of complete silence, and then an odd tearing sound as Granger grabbed two handfuls of grass. He could barely make out the expression of contained fury as she lunged forward and raked the clumps of grass and dirt over his shirtfront.

"Are you barking?"

She continued her assault on his shirt front, making sure to really rub it in as he struggled to sit up and grab hold of her wrists. She wrenched herself free, managing to rub a clump of dirt into his hair with both hands before he threw himself on top of her to keep her from trying again.

"Who else, then? Who else would write that on my door?"

"Write what? Merlin, Granger, could you be more cryptic?"

She glared up at him, stained red and looking as proud as he'd ever seen her. "Get off of me, Malfoy."

He obliged, rolling off of her and watching as she went to sit on the back steps. He sat there when she picked up a rag and began scrubbing the word Mudblood off the back door. She tried again and again with her wand, but the word must have been charmed because it stayed where it was.

She went back to scrubbing, working tirelessly to remove every trace of red.

"I didn't write it," he called out across the darkness.

She wasn't looking at him. It was difficult to make out in the dark, but he knew she was facing the door. Still, he clearly heard her reply, "As if it really matters."


	3. Clarity

**Chapter 3: Clarity**

* * *

The next set of trials began in the fall.

The papers were full of them, and gossip was constantly being passed around behind closed hands.

_Which families were next? Who had joined the Dark Lord as a devout believer, and who joined to save their family? _

_Was there a difference? _

Hermione avoided the papers at all costs. She heard enough about it at work. It followed her through the halls, until she closed her door and refused to hear about it any longer. Their names were already on her mind in an endless loop; those she went to school with, fought against and with.

It was impossible to tell where traitors began and heroes ended anymore.

Hermione was staring out the window of her office, watching strangers pass in the streets and decidedly not doing her work, when three light raps sounded on her door.

"Hermione. Ready for lunch?"

Hermione startled and then smiled naturally in response to Neville Longbottom's friendly grin.

"Yes, sorry. Just thinking of all I have to get done."

"I know the feeling. I'm swamped with all of the samples coming in…"

The pair kept up a steady stream of chatter on the way to a restaurant just around the corner. It was cozy, and frequented by Ministry workers when they felt like getting out of the office and away from the work piling up on their desks.

Hermione enjoyed Neville's company. She didn't see him often enough, but occasionally he was hired by the Ministry for his expertise in Herbology and they were able to get lunch and catch up on each other's lives.

It was only after their drinks were ordered and they had started on their meal that Hermione broached something that had been on her mind recently. She felt comfortable speaking about it with Neville rather than the others. She wasn't sure why, other than the fact that he had always been one of the most open minded and gentle men she knew, and she valued his opinion.

"I don't suppose you've missed that the trials are starting again."

"No," Neville swiped a napkin over his lips and shook his head sadly, "It's been all over the place lately, hasn't it? All the rumors are making everything worse."

"I just wonder…all the inquiries, and the people who have been taken away before they've been proven guilty or innocent. What, exactly, is being accomplished?"

"I can't say. I guess they're trying to make things right, make someone pay."

"How do they decide who deserves to pay, and how much?"

Neville set aside his fork and leaned in to place his hand lightly on her arm. "Hermione, is something troubling you?"

"I just," she started softly, "I just feel as though a lot of this is being swept under the rug, as if everything is perfectly fine. They took Hannah Abbot in the other day, did you hear about that?"

"Yes. They thought she might be involved with some sort of plot. But she was released after forty eight hours-"

"Forty eight hours of being held for questioning. She went missing and her family had no idea what happened to her. She won't leave the house now because she's scared she'll be dragged in again."

"What happened to Hannah is awful," Neville agreed, "It should never have happened, but I'm sure the Ministry is doing its best with these things."

Hardly convinced, Hermione wearily let the matter drop. "Yes, I'm sure you're right."

* * *

He came to her on the day it was announced that thirty seven prisoners were to receive the Dementor's kiss.

It was a rather gloomy Thursday, two weeks after her lunch with Neville, and she had stayed late at the office to finish work that she should have completed much earlier.

It felt as though everything hurt. There was a persistent ache in her back, and her head was pounding as if it would come clean off her shoulders.

She needed a soak in the tub and a glass of wine.

Instead, she received a pensive Malfoy on her stoop. He looked up when she approached, the porch light capturing the quick flash of silver as he got to his feet in a suit that was, as always, perfectly pressed.

"Have you seen the list?"

"Malfoy, I've had a long day."

"Did you _see_ it?"

"Yes," she ground out. "Everyone's seen it because someone leaked it to the papers."

"I want to know what you felt when you heard the news. I won't judge you for it, Granger," he vowed with a sardonic twist of his lips, "Were you relieved? Elated?"

"We're not talking about this."

"If my name had been on that list," he said, raising his voice, "or my aunt's, the one who gave you _that_ scar on your arm, would you have taken pleasure from it?"

"No," Hermione shook her head violently, wishing she could close her eyes and make everything about the day disappear.

"That's downright saintly of you, Granger."

"Shut your mouth."

"You would pardon all of us, wouldn't you? Saint Granger, come down from high to give us your blessing and forgive us for our grievances-"

"Yes, I hate it! Are you satisfied? None of them received trials; all of them were brought in on hearsay. I hate that everyone believes it is all okay because the side that won is doing it."

"How noble of you to stand up for the poor, oppressed Death Eater's."

"And how typical," she said with barely contained fury, "for you to mock my compassion, having relied on it yourself. I have no idea what it is you want from me, Malfoy, but I'm not playing this game."

"I don't want anything from you," he snarled.

She laughed at that; awed by the cognitive dissonance it took for him to say he didn't care and then show up whenever he felt like it, especially for tonight's interrogation. "And yet here you are."

"Here I am," he conceded. "I guess I find pleasure in watching you learn to hate your own side. You wear that particular brand of anguish well, Granger."

The comment struck too close to home.

Hermione bit back the denial that sprang to mind first, knowing he'd see it for the lie it was. Instead, she got to the heart of things, saying, "This is the last time you'll set foot on my property. You're doing just fine without my table scraps, and I want you to stay the hell away from me."

She didn't spare him a backward glance. Quietly, she retreated into the house and went straight to the bath for that much needed soak.

* * *

Everything went promptly to hell the moment Hermione opened her eyes the next morning.

It began with her oversleeping. She had spent much of the night tossing and turning, giving entirely too much thought to Malfoy's words, rather than sleeping. It continued when she awoke to the indignant meowing from Crookshanks as he demanded his breakfast.

By the time she made it to the office, still on time, but without a proper breakfast or time to orient herself, she was desperate to crawl back into bed and pull the duvet over her head.

Instead, she made the mistake of picking up the paper and scanning it for the daily headlines.

It was more than a little shocking to see the face of Draco Malfoy staring back at her, sneering, as he was dragged into custody by a team of Auror's. Hermione smoothed the page out on her desk, and began reading in earnest.

_**Malfoy in Azkaban, Murder Charges to Follow**_

_Draco Malfoy was brought into the Ministry early Friday morning after he was linked to a murder that took place in Knockturn Alley at 7 Thursday evening. The victim was a thirty nine year old man, whose name shall be withheld until his family is notified._

_Meanwhile, Malfoy is back in his old cell, awaiting a hearing that will determine his fate. Although no one from the Ministry was willing to comment, an inside source mentioned that the Kiss is not out of the realm of possibility, saying, "Men like Draco Malfoy cannot be allowed to walk the streets with the rest of us. He's well on his way to receiving the Kiss."_

Hermione set aside the paper, hoping she appeared calm as she left her office to make her way through the halls. Meanwhile, her mind was racing. She wondered if the time frame in the article was correct. If so, there was no way Draco Malfoy could have been involved in any murder, unless it took place in her garden. If the article wasn't correct, what then?

By the time she reached the office she had been seeking out, she was practically running, receiving strange looks from the others that she passed. Without waiting for clearance from the secretary, she went directly to the door and knocked loudly, after trying the door and finding it locked.

"Ms. Granger, Mr. Potter has asked that no one-"

"I'm sorry, Effie, but I need to speak to him. Tell him it's me, and it's an emergency."

The older woman nodded her eyes wide behind the glasses perched on her nose. She hurried to the door and looked apprehensively at Hermione, who nodded, before opening the door and effectively ended whatever conversation was taking place between Harry Potter and Angelina Johnson.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Potter. She said it was an emergency…"

"Of course, Effie," Harry said gently, before the poor woman could work herself into a full state of panic. "Ms. Granger is welcome here. Thank you for showing her in."

Meanwhile, Harry was instantly at Hermione's side, looking her over to make sure she was all right. It was a habit the Golden Trio could not shake since the war, and was likely something they would continue for the rest of their lives.

"What is it? You said it was an emergency."

Hermione waved him away. "I'm not hurt. It isn't about me, exactly. I need to speak to the head of the Malfoy case. I thought you might know who's involved."

"This is about Draco Malfoy?"

Hermione ignored Harry, knowing he would ask for details later anyway, and addressed Angelina instead.

"Do you know who brought him in?"

Angelina looked uncomfortably between her partner and Hermione, before speaking. "Ron and Justin were working last night. I think they might know the most about it."

Hermione felt her stomach plummet from its proper place, all the way to her toes.

"Right. Thank you, Angelina."

"Hermione, what's-"

"Later, Harry, I have to go."

Once more, Hermione took to the halls of the Ministry, until she stood outside the cubicle that Ron and Justin shared. She knew what she had to do, just as much as she knew that she didn't want to do it.

Finally, after giving herself a good talking to, she pasted a smile on her face and stepped inside.

"Hermione! Good to see you!" Justin Finch-Fletchley greeted her warmly.

Ron glanced up from whatever he had been reading and smiled. His smile failed to put her at ease, however, as she noticed the tension around its edges.

"It's nice to see you too, Justin."

"What brings you up here?" Ron asked, getting to his feet.

"I heard about the Malfoy case."

Justin grimaced and propped a hip against his desk. "Slimy git, that one."

"I have information about the case," Hermione said, speaking mostly to Justin. "And I believe there is a good chance that he's innocent."

Justin's eyebrows shot high into his hairline, but it was Ron's reaction that was more telling. His face revealed no surprise. Instead, he calmly dismissed Justin, asking him to run an errand relating to the case, so they could have their conversation in private.

"What information do you have?"

Wary now, Hermione folded her arms across her chest and spoke quietly, "Draco Malfoy couldn't possibly have murdered anyone last night. There are wards that logged his presence at a residential home from six at night, until sometime after eight."

"He could have left-"

"No. If they had been tampered with, I would have been able to chart exactly when the breach took place."

She saw a flash of skepticism cross his face. She wanted to reach out, to place her hand on his arm, or her head on his shoulder, to at least convince herself that things would be alright. Instead, she stayed where she was, saying slowly, "Ron, there was no breach."

"How do you know all of this?"

Finally, the question she had been dreading was asked. Hermione schooled her features, so she appeared calmer than she felt. She didn't want him to see that her insides were twisting, just as she didn't want to see his expression change when she told him the reason she couldn't let Draco Malfoy receive the Kiss, for a crime he didn't commit.

"I know because they were my wards. I saw the story in the papers and came to tell you before it went any further."

Ron pinned her with a long look that communicated a world of trouble between them, a look that started a dull ache in her chest and spread when he left the room, shouting for Justin as he went.

* * *

**A/N As always, thank you for reading! I hope you're enjoying the ride so far. The next chapter is in the works, and picks up with Draco's POV. Stay tuned! **


	4. Torn

**Chapter 4: Torn**

**Disclaimer: Nothing related to HP is mine. **

For most of his second incarceration, Draco considered what it would be like to receive the Kiss.

His first memory of hearing about Dementors went all the way back to his childhood, when his father would tell him that they would come for him if he didn't behave. He was fooled into standing still during holiday parties and not talking back to his mother thanks to his father's rather inventive lie.

He remembered huddling in the center of his bed on stormy nights, terrified that a great hooded creature would come for him and clamp its jaws around his mouth.

He could look back on it now and laugh, making the other inmates wonder what it was that he had to be amused about.

Draco wasn't entirely sure what the Ministry was getting at with pinning the murder on him, but he'd take it. They were an incompetent lot, but it was a means to an end; only several more hours, at most, in the rank cell. A quick hearing, and then that would be it.

They'd give him the kiss. There was no way that Lucius Malfoy's son would get another chance, even with the amount of bleeding heart Gryffindor's calling the shots.

No. He'd take the Kiss, and figure out a way to end things properly, later.

It was a natural progression, in his mind. With the Malfoy fortune back in play, his parents would get along fine. They would never have to worry; never have to get along in the post-war world without their money backing them.

It wouldn't be long before his death would be nothing more than forgotten gossip. They might bring his name up and shake their heads, wondering how one family could fall so far, but that would be it.

The thought brought an oddly peaceful sort of smile to his face.

It was some time later that he heard the click of a door, and then Weaselbee was standing on the other side of the bars, looking at him with an enormous amount of contempt. Draco laughed at the irony of the man looking at _him_ with contempt, when Weasley was the one who brought in the wrong man.

Weasley dismissed the two Auror's with him and approached the cell with as menacing look that thoroughly intrigued Draco.

"Afternoon, Weaselbee. I'm assuming it is afternoon, but I could be mistaken. My time piece was confiscated, and nobody has bothered to tell me how long I've been held. Not that I'd expect better from this shoddy operation, mind you."

Draco enjoyed the way the other man's face was reddening. He took a great deal of pleasure in the way the color traveled to his ears, making him look like he would explode without a moment's notice.

"I don't care what you do once you get out of here, Malfoy, but stay away from her."

Draco went from lounging carelessly on the stained cot, to standing face to face with Weasley in an instant.

"What do you mean, once I get out of here?"

"You'll be released within the next hour, and if I hear that you step foot on Hermione's property again, I'll bring you in for harassment. Are we clear?"

"No. Not even a little. Last I checked I didn't take orders from the likes of you."

"Let me be clearer then, Hermione might be too charitable to tell you to clear off but I'm not. You hurt her and I will kill you myself. That's a promise."

"Touching," Draco sneered, moving toward the cot. "If you excuse me, I think I'll go back to sitting on someone else's urine. As always, it's been a pleasure, Weaselbee."

It was only after the man's footsteps faded, and the door closed behind him with a bang, that Draco retreated to the darkest corner of his cell, and dropped his head into shaking hands.

* * *

Narcissa Malfoy was stationed at the parlor window, waiting for her son's return. The sun had long since faded from the sky and she could no longer see the sprawling grounds of Malfoy Manor, but she would remain at her post until Draco was home and, for the night at least, safe.

She knew Lucius was watching her from the doorway. He had taken to his study after their mostly silent dinner, but there was only so much pacing he could do before he sought her out for comfort.

It was his misfortune that she had none to offer.

"Draco will come out fine, sweet. He always does."

Narcissa wasn't so sure. She loved her son; every bit of that charming, difficult boy had delighted her since his infancy. She was kept awake night after night remembering his sweet peals of laughter and the chubby hands that reached for her robes as they played in the garden.

Narcissa could still remember when Draco came running to her as a young boy, looking for the protection that a mother was meant to extend to her child. She longed for the days when she could lift him onto her lap and stop his tears with soothing words and gentle hands.

It made her ache to know that she failed him as he grew into a young man, when he was too old to be placed upon her knee and doted on.

"He was released several hours ago."

"There's no reason to worry yet. He'll be back-"

Narcissa turned then and pinned her husband with a look so fierce that he automatically braced himself.

"Don't tell me not to worry. Someone in this house has to."

"You think I don't worry about Draco?"

Narcissa couldn't answer. She turned away from her husband, the once proud man now reduced to someone lesser and entirely unfamiliar; a man she hardly recognized.

"I'd like to be left alone."

She didn't hear the telltale sound of his footfalls, but when she turned around next the doorway was empty.

* * *

Ron was stationed by the window while Hermione prepared a plate of biscuits, his gaze intense as if the answers he needed were somewhere beyond what he was seeing. Hermione went to stand beside him, breaking his concentration by handing him a biscuit as she fiddled with her own rather than bite into it.

"Ron-"

"I have to know something."

"Anything."

His jaw hardened before he flicked a glance in her direction.

"Should I be worried about him lurking around?"

Relief flooded Hermione at his question. She gripped his hand again, grateful when he tightened his hold instead of releasing her.

"Of course not. It's difficult to explain, but I promise-"

"That's enough, then. You don't need to explain."

"Ron…"

He kissed her then, looping an arm around her waist so she could rest her head against his chest and shut her eyes. She could smell soap and the clean scent of his clothing and it brought a smile to her face just as surely as the steady rhythm of his heart.

"It's enough."

It was the easiest thing in the world.

Draco's attempt at making a quiet entrance was hindered somewhat by the alcohol surging through his bloodstream.

He thought he was making good progress, successfully clearing the wards and making his way through the complete darkness of the foyer, until his foot caught the end of an end table that had been in that exact spot since his birth and sent a rather expensive vase, some useless heirloom if he remembered correctly, crashing to the floor.

He winced when light flooded the room and several house elves appeared to take care of the mess. It wasn't long before he heard his mother moving swiftly down the stairs, hastily fastening her robe around her as she did so.

"Tables jumping out at me," he remarked bitterly as his mother dismissed the elves and helped him to his feet.

He hoped for a smile or a proper scolding for coming home in such a state; it wouldn't be amiss to expect some sort of reaction for landing himself in Azkaban and returning home pissed out of his mind. Instead, she was silent, her touch gentle as she guided him upstairs and into his room.

She reminded him to step out of his shoes so he could rest comfortably and set them aside before taking her leave. Draco fell into bed, still dressed, and threw one arm over his eyes.

"Mother."

"What is it?"

"I'm sorry."

Silence filled the room and Draco's eyes closed. Sleep was dragging him under when he heard her reply softly, "I am too."

* * *

They didn't see one another again for some time.

In fact, they had no good reason to see one another ever again. Surely, their paths could cross by chance in Diagon Alley or in some other absurd fashion.

It wasn't as if they moved in the same circles. Draco kept his head down and began the process of readjusting to life post-Azkaban. He was hardly seen outside his flat or the Manor, only keeping the company of Blaise and few others.

Hermione, on the other hand, was flourishing with her impending nuptials and a successful career. Her picture was constantly being flashed in the glossies. Sometimes she was alone but mostly she was pictured with Harry or Ron.

They couldn't have been on more different paths.

Yet, as was their nature, they managed to collide.


End file.
